


(Don't Say) Goodbye

by TheDayWillEnd



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: An Apology, Guilty Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Kissing, Like the whore i am, M/M, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Sort Of, Yennefer has the braincell, Yennefer is kinda nice in this one, as is deserved and demanded by many of us, hand holding, maybe friendship, no beta we die like men, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23309983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDayWillEnd/pseuds/TheDayWillEnd
Summary: If Geralt of Rivia thinks he can speak to Jaskier the way he did at the top of that mountain, he's got another thing comingorJaskier demands an apology (at the urging of a certain Sorceress)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 284





	1. In Which the Bard and the Sorceress Might Just Be Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I wrote this. Hope it isn't garbage. Enjoy :)

Jaskier had had a frankly terrible and heartbreaking day, starting with the words "I'm in" and ending with words that he hardly wants to think about. They repeat in his head as he traipses down the mountain, alone and exhausted from the day's exploits. 

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_

He unwillingly ponders the words that Geralt had shouted at him, first tearfully considering that they may be true, then angrily denying their weight. ‘ _He made his choices, in the end. I never_ forced _him to do anything.’_

He goes back and forth between the two for a long while, feet aching and fine vibrant clothes chafing as he makes his way down the rough narrow path, boulders and trees on either side of him casting their shadows. It’s getting colder now, and his lute, still hanging over his back on its strap, feels heavier than usual. He pulls it in front of him, strumming out a half-hearted tune, but he does not sing. He doesn’t quite have that in him. Minutes pile up, and he gives up on the lute as well, slinging it again over his back. 

As the sun begins to sink, and the light breeze which had been only a minor bother begins to cut through his clothes, part of him is naturally frightened. In the dark all manner of creatures lurk. He knows this well from his time with Geralt, and even before that. He does mildly regret his decision not to go with the dwarves, but it’s too late to go back now. They must be long gone now. So must be Geralt.

_‘Oh Geralt…’_

Jaskier is angry, of course, but he wishes he would have stayed, no matter how upset either of them were. He certainly wouldn’t be afraid then. He knew that despite what had happened, he could still trust Geralt to save him from an untimely demise. It was more than just wanting protection, though, or even friendship.

“I still love him,” Jaskier mumbles miserably. 

It was the first time Jaskier had acknowledged such a thing out loud. He had known for years, pining and secretly woeful, unable to escape his love for the Witcher no matter how hard he tried. There was no point in telling him this, for a couple of annoyingly important reasons. One, he was mortal. He would age and die in what, for Geralt, would be the blink of an eye. And two, the much more obvious reason, Geralt would never love him back. He could barely tolerate Jaskier as a friend, something he’d made perfectly clear. So he kept his love held tightly to himself, not wanting to lose what he barely had to begin with. 

How depressing.

He’s so deep in his hopeless thoughts that he doesn’t realize Yennefer is in front of him until he nearly runs into her. She looks terribly unimpressed, and lovely as ever in her grey fur gown, damn her. (The ‘crows feet’ remark cut rather deep. No, he is _not_ jealous of Yennefer’s staggering beauty).

“You still _love_ him?” are the first words out her mouth. “Well,” she drawls. “You are more pathetic than I thought, but perhaps not as poor in taste.”

His face pales a few shades, and he nearly chokes when he tries to speak. “Y-You heard? What are you even doing here! You left! Quite dramatically I heard! Vanished into thin air like the witch you are!”

She rolls her eyes at that. “Yes well, I haven’t much got anywhere to go. It wouldn’t be too difficult to find somewhere to… make my own, but I’m not in the mood to deal with that at the moment.” She pauses. “I’ve no idea why I’m telling _you_ this,” she sneers gently. “What are you even doing here, all lovelorn and pitiful?”

He supposes she hadn’t heard, in her hurry to be away from Geralt. “I’ve been thrown away. Discarded. Gotten rid of.”

“Got any more descriptors?” 

“Told off. Dropped. Cast aside.” _‘Broken up with,’_ he doesn’t say out loud. A break up would imply that they had been together in the first place.

“That will do, bard. Get to what happened, sometime this century please.”

He wonders for a moment why she’s being so… not kind, per say. So tolerable. He decides it's best not to question it. They can’t stand each other on a good day, but Jaskier is alone and so is she. He may as well lay it all out, take advantage of this tentative thing she’s initiated.

“Geralt doesn’t want me around anymore. He made himself quite clear after you left.” Yennefer asks what was said, and he can barely bring himself to repeat the words out loud. She winces in pseudo-sympathy when he manages to tell her.

“That’s undeniably harsh, even for Geralt,” she admits.

“Yes,” he sighs. “So here I am, alone just like you, wandering down this fucking mountain, hoping not to get eaten by some variety of beast.”

She snorts in mild disgust. “First of all, never say that we are similar ever again, in any way. Second, why are you running away?” This surprises him into silence for a moment. ‘ _Running away? I was quite vehemently told that he was the root of all of Geralt’s problems, a nuisance and a pest! Even I, stubborn and cheerfully unyielding, can take a hint.’_ He opens his mouth to say it to her face, but she lifts an elegant hand. 

“I heard you, loud and clear,” she says with amusement, tapping a finger against her temple.

“I detest that.”

“I don’t care. We’re talking about why you ran away. On top of being annoying, inflammatory, lustful, and of questionable intelligence, are you now also a coward?”

In the back of his mind, he is offended, but only mildly. He can’t dispute most of these, least of all the lustfulness. So sue him, if he falls in love as quick as a stone dropped into the ocean, and back out just as quick. And so what if he enjoys the sexual attentions of men and women everywhere regardless of marital status? He loves to love, and usually it’s a rather painless affair. Mostly. The matter at hand is rather opposite. He doesn’t feel the need to get into the fact that _this_ kind of undying love is disturbingly unusual for him. Instead he says, “What am I to do, Yennefer? Go to him and profess my deep love _and_ demand an apology all at once? I am mortal, and even if I didn’t inevitably age and die, he can hardly stand me.”

“So much stupidity in one sentence. You aren’t mortal, and however much you think he detests you, you still have the right to demand respect. Do you think so low of yourself, to let him treat you like that?”

“He absolutely do- _wait._ Back up.” His mind is going a mile a minute.

“Must I spell it out for you?” she sighs in exasperation. “You are not mortal, and Geralt doesn’t hate you like you think he does. I’m certain of that.”

‘ _Not mortal. That’s impossible.’_

“It’s quite possible. Elf blood possibly, or something of the like. How could you have not noticed? I even made a jab at your non-existent wrinkles.”

“But my parents aged normally! And the only thing I ever heard about Elves from them was propaganda, slanderous and wrong!”

“Well, I never said it was absolutely Elf blood . It could be any manner of thing, something that could skip generations. Especially if your family is as licentious as you. _Think about it_. You don’t look a day over twenty. What are you meant to be now, forty? It’s quite curious, come to think of it. I may just look into this.”

He ignores the insult to his family and the scheme for further research into... him. He does as he’s told, and thinks about it, and comes to the conclusion that it must be true. He considers the last decade, the lack of grey in his hair, the fact that he aches from the long distances he’s travelled, but not like he should for a man of his age. The non-existent wrinkles... Curious indeed. Yennefer somehow also noticed before he did. He doesn’t want to think about how she did that, nor does he want to think about his extended youth. His mind can hardly grasp it. He moves to address the other outrageous bit of what she said.

“In all the years I have known Geralt, he has never shown any signs of even liking me. He refuses to even admit friendship!”

She huffs in irritation. “Well, there’s yet another thing that you’ve missed and I’ve seen. He doesn’t hate you, no matter how he acts. I urge you, Jaskier, to go to him. Demand your apology, and tell him how you feel. Don’t run away from this. I’ve been wrong about much in my life, but not this.”

He considers his options in an uncommon stretch of silence. Yennefer seems content to wait until he’s done, so he thinks deeply. She’s not stupid, not by any stretch of the word, and despite their less than stellar relationship, he doesn’t think she’d lie about this of all things. If what she said is true, then he’d regret it if he didn’t at least try to unburden himself of his unrequited love. But he is a man who avoids pain, adventures notwithstanding, and it may break him to pour his heart out, to demand respect, and be rejected again.

At the same time, he doubts he could stand to live for a century without saying something, now that that is a possibility. And, even though he does love Geralt, he is still furious. How _dare_ Geralt speak to him in such a way!? His heart settles on anger and determination but… there’s one more thing still. The rather huge matter of Geralt and Yennefer. Mere hours before, they had seemed rather deeply in love. 

“You may not want to hear this,” he starts cautiously, “but what about you and Geralt? Do you not still want-”

“That doesn't matter. I've removed myself from the equation.”

He sighs. _‘If this is what she wants…’_

“It is,” she says with certainty.

“Would you quit that?”

“Absolutely not. Go to him, Jaskier. You need not worry about me, and you _know_ that I am right.”

“Yes, I daresay that you are, Yennefer. I will do this. No matter how much it hurts.”

She smirks in triumph, and Jaskier can see, briefly, why Geralt fell for her. She really is lovely. “Of course I am. And now, I really must be going. You’ve exhausted me with your presence.” 

He doesn’t ask _why_ she helped him come to this conclusion when she’s never once shown him any sign of fondness. He has a feeling that she has her own reasons. Instead, he sets aside any ill will he has toward her, as she did for him and asks, “Yennefer… will you be okay? I mean-”

“None of that. I made my own choice, and with good reason. Go, and keep what I’ve told you in mind.” Jaskier drops it, if only because she very obviously does not wish to discuss it, and despite their conversation, he has no wish to piss her off with further enquiry. She opens a portal with a flourish of her hands, and strides forth to vanish through it. 

He realizes something, as she steps back to leave. “Wait!” She turns around, arms crossed over her chest. “What? Spit it out, quickly now.”

“You didn’t say I was a bad singer.”

“What?” she repeats.

“When you were so rudely listing off my perceived character flaws, you didn’t mention my singing. You aren’t typically so reluctant to criticize all aspects of my person, art included.”

She smiles a secret smile that Jaskier isn’t sure he likes. “No. No, I suppose I didn’t.” With that she disappears through the portal. He hopes, strangely, that they meet again. He thinks they will. He turns back the way he came, a mission in mind, and maybe even a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so tired. Hope this was good for you!


	2. Rage Makes An Appearance In Bright Red Finery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion is had. It's ends better than Jaskier could have imagined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait till tomorrow to post this, but I am on a roll, so I may as well keep going

He spots Geralt coming down the mountain, his expression drawn, and posture sturdy as ever. _‘The enduring bastard.’_ Jaskier rushes up to him, dusty crimson jacket catching on the wind, and he can see the surprise etched into his face. Jaskier, at this moment, paints quite the picture. His posture is stiff, and his face is rather twisted in displeasure.

“Jaskier…” Geralt utters in shock. That’s all he gets out before Jaskier, tired and hungry and full of rage, unleashes on him, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“Listen here you absolute arse! I have followed you around for years, _years_ , improving your piss poor reputation, mending your wounds, and supporting you as your friend! Even when you were cold to me, even when you seemed to want nothing more than for me to leave! Whether I was the catalyst for the events you blame me for or not, it is not my fucking fault that you made the fool choices you made! You hear me!? You do not get to speak to me the way you did earlier, not ever! I’m here to demand an apology from you, Geralt of Rivia.”

“Why?” Geralt asks, quiet and reticent.

“Why- What do you mean why!?” Jaskier demands, hands on hips. 

“I never asked you to do any of that. So why stay?” Geralt, annoyingly, has not only avoided his demand for an apology, but has also incensed Jaskier in a way he thinks he has never been before. He steps close to Geralt, getting up in his face like he’s never dared to before, and practically spits the words he’s wanted to say for ages now.

"Because I love you, you stupid Witcher! Have for nigh on two decades, but thank you for finally forcing me to fucking say it!”

Geralt is struck speechless. His damnably beautiful eyes are wide, and his mouth is shut tightly. He stands stiff as a board. Then-

“Hmm,” deep and contemplative.

“Oh no. No, no, no. I’ve just poured my heart out to you, and you can’t manage a proper sentence? No more of that, Geralt. Use your damn words!” If there is venom in his tone, can you really blame him? He’s been dealing with Geralt’s unwillingness to speak for far longer than anyone should have to.

There’s a look in Geralt’s eyes that Jaskier can’t read, but before he can try to decipher it Geralt’s mouth smashes against his without warning, a hand cupping the back of his head with surprising gentleness, fingers brushing through Jaskier's thick brown hair. _‘He’s very good at this,’_ he thinks dazedly. It’s hard to think when Geralt’s tongue has made its way into Jaskier’s mouth, stroking his own and stealing away his breath. The Witcher pulls back all too soon, and words pour out in a slightly panicked timbre.

“ _Fuck_. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier, feeling rather far away says, “Not for that kiss, I hope. That was unparalleled, my good man." Then, as an afterthought, "I’m still angry though.”

Geralt ignores the first part of what Jaskier said and powers on. “I’m sorry for what I said. You’re right to be mad. I was unfair to you. Have been for a long while.” The words sound somewhat painful, but he says them anyway.

“And…?” He has more to say, Jaskier can see it in his hesitant amber eyes. This is the most he’s ever gotten out of Geralt in the two decades he’s known him, and he wants to hear whatever he has to say. Even if it hurts.

“And as sorry as I am, as much as I want you, I can’t do this. You’re mortal. You’ll die, far too soon, and I’ll be alone. I can’t.”

It comes to him then that he doesn’t know that Jaskier is not leaving anytime soon. Geralt, much like himself, has been clueless about his lack of aging throughout the years, operating on the (false) knowledge that Jaskier wither and die in a matter of decades. He delivers the delightful news of his new lack of mortality, and Geralt is struck silent again. He appears to be going through a dozen emotions at once, which is much how Jaskier felt, so he waits until Geralt finds his voice.

“Truly?” he says weakly, likely asking himself how the hell he didn’t notice.

“Mmm hmm. Yennefer told me so. I’ve decided that I may like her, just a bit.”

Geralt brow scrunches up in confusion, and he seems mildly horrified by this new development between Jaskier and Yennefer. There are questions in his eyes, and Jaskier answers them.

“We met quite accidently on the way down. Had a talk. She could tell, with whatever witchy powers she has that I am in fact not mortal. Shocked me too. So, you have no excuse dear Witcher. Unless you don’t want…” he trails off nervously. 

Geralt pulls him close and kisses him again, softly, and Jaskier considers cutting the conversation short to get to more engrossing activities. He pulls back instead. This… whatever they're trying to do is too important.

Geralt sighs, hand down rubbing Jaskier’s back, as if to comfort. “I don’t want to be with Yennefer like I did before, if that’s what you’re wondering. She was right to leave.” His words are in earnest but Jaskier still doubts.

“Geralt, it’s okay if you still feel for her. I would understand.” He truly would. Yennefer is both beautiful and powerful. Jaskier can’t think of many people who wouldn’t want her.

“I don’t. Not like I did before. I can’t trust the love I feel. Felt. Not with the interference of the Djinn. I care about her, but what we had before is finished.”

He takes Jaskier’s hand in his, the hold solid but not painful. “You, I’ve felt things for. For some time now.”

“Huh,” Jaskier says nonchalantly. “Yennefer did mention that as well. Don’t ask me how she knew. She practically gave me her blessing.” 

“She did, did she? That’s good,” said somewhat sarcastically. He’s silent, then,

“I am sorry. I meant that.”

“I know. And I, the gracious, talented bard, forgive you.”

Geralt brings him into his arms, holding him for a moment. He’s warm, and Jaskier can feel his breath on his neck. “I don’t deserve it,” he mumbles. 

Jaskier pulls back, grinning up at him, and he’s radiant. “Maybe not, my dear. But I forgive you anyways. Because I love you. But don’t you _ever_ do that again. My heart can’t take it.”

Geralt grunts quietly, blushing ( _blushing!)_ and Jaskier is delighted.

“Are you blushing? How lovely.”

He scowls, marching away with his face still red. Jaskier’s fingers twitch, just a bit. “Hmm. Don’t start. Let’s go. We’ll fetch Roach and make camp for the night. In the morning we’ll leave this damned mountain behind, for good. Go somewhere else.” He motions Jaskier forward, taking his hand once again, carefully pulling him along. The journey the rest of the way down will be rough and draining, he knows, but his mind is on ‘somewhere else’.

“Like the coast? I’d love to see the coast after this ordeal.” To think, just him and Geralt together, exploring their fledgling romance. He practically vibrates with excitement.

When Geralt looks back at him, he sees a fondness he didn’t ever notice before, and his grip tightens, just so. The feel of it is firm and comforting. Jaskier doesn’t bother hiding his eagerness. Geralt doesn’t seem to mind, this time around.

“I’d love that too,” he rumbles quietly.

As they walk off into the night hand in hand, Jaskier gets the feeling that he isn’t entirely talking about the coast.

**Author's Note:**

> Please be gentle, I wrote this in the wee hours of the morning. I'm tired y'all. Happy social distancing everyone!


End file.
